


Night and Darkness are not the Same

by Akuoni



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Community: skyrimkinkmeme, F/M, Skyrim Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 06:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2571023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akuoni/pseuds/Akuoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>De-Anon:<br/>Sithis + Night Mother</p>
<p>the Night Mother and Sithis get it on. After all they're a married couple, right? So one day in the Void, they get into an argument much like Zeus and Hera in mythology. But they cannot be physical since they're formless in the Void.</p>
<p>Solution? They possess Cicero and the Listener.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

"What do you want woman?" The one known as the Dread Father spoke. His eyes were red, but cold rather than hot. His skin was not black but a shade of grey that blended with the darkness of the void better than even the darkest black. Before him stood a striking woman who had once been mortal but who's twisted soul had made itself immortal in a way that even impressed Molag Bal.

"Do not take that tone with me, Sithis," her voice was calm. Flat and without inflection. It was without emotion. The heart had long shriveled before it had stopped beating and the warmth had faded even before then, "I am just as strong as you."

"You were a mortal, woman. You are meddling. There was no need to speak to the child of Akatosh," he admonished. She was unaffected and it chafed. She should be bowing down to his will, the woman who had once been mortal, "you are causing mischief. I will not have it."

"I'm making the dark brotherhood a force to be feared again!" Still there was no emotion, but a spark lit up in her own red eyes, "you want to touch her, don't you? She reminds you of my youth when I was so obedient and eager to please the dread father even to the point of killing my children."

"Lies. I see the way you look at the imperial boy. He is whimsical. Driven mad by agents of Sheogorath," he hissed sibilantly and reached up to touch her cheek in a calculated gesture. She didn't respond as his fingers passed through her false flesh, but he smirked all the same, "a test then. You can't resist meddling and I can't let you think you've won so easily. You will inhabit the body of your champion. I will inhabit your precious Keeper. Do you agree?"

"What are your terms?" There was no hesitation in her voice. His smile was a simple shadow in the dark as they found themselves housed in the bodies of their mortal "champions" and his hand of flesh closed around a delicate throat.

"Winner takes all of course, my dear night mother," he cooed in the high pitch the Jester often forced his voice to follow. A Shout sent him flying as the Night Mother pounced, grasping his lapels with a snarl on the delicate features of her avatar.

"None shall disrespect me. Not even you, dread Father," she didn't see the blow that sent her tumbling as he rolled and pinned her beneath him. He drew the blade of woe from where it was hidden and pressed the tip under her chin, only to go cross-eyed with a yelp of agony when her knee jerked up sharply to hit him between the legs.

{{what is the meaning of this?}}Night Mother froze, recognizing her charge's voice echoing in her head. She wondered idly if that was what she sounded like to the Listeners of the past but shook it off. She did not need to explain her reasoning. The Dragonborn was the Listener. She belonged to no one but Night Mother. She removed the distraction, sending it to where she watched the mortals beneath her.

{{who is in Cicero's head? You don't belong in here!}} Sithis growled and shoved the offending voice into the Void, unaware that his dear bride had done the same with hers. He took advantage of her distraction to yank away at the offending strips of leather on her clothes. Power would be in the hands of the winner. The loser would be stripped bare.

She rallied with a snarl, tearing at his clothes with inhuman strength and he lowered himself to bite her lip with a growl. He was rewarded with a sharp cry and nails raking down his borrowed back. He jerked, grinding his hips down against hers and they resumed tearing at each other, bruising and scratching in their attempts to conquer until both were laid bare.

They had no need for gentility, his teeth sinking into the flesh under her jaw, forcing her to submit as he lay between her legs and held her arms no matter how she twisted and writhed beneath him. He was the master. He was her ruler. It was not equality. She would submit and he would make it so.


	2. Threshold

Cicero watched with horror as his body held down the body of his Listener. This wasn't right. He didn't want to hurt her. She was good to him and watched over him just as the Night Mother did and now they were doing horrible things to each other but it wasn't them!

He turned to his Listener in this dark place and began to cry, wrapping his arms around her waist only to collapse on the other side as she hushed him and tried to pet his red hair soothingly and her hands passed through flesh and bone. He could see the tension in her muscles and cried harder. He didn't want it to be like this. He loved his Listener. She followed the tenets and was so very kind to him. She didn't deserve this!

The dragonborn was silent as she watched through the Night Mother's shriveled eyes. She didn't flinch as the Not-Cicero forced himself into the body that belonged to her, rage burning in her soul that was a dragon in human form. She felt phantom pain deep inside her and poor Cicero tensed next to her with a gasp. Of course. They were still tethered to their bodies.

The pain continued as she watched Dread Father finally release his hold on Night Mother's arms, deadly slender hands wrapping around a delicate throat and she felt her lungs seize as he squeezed the Listener's throat. She heard Cicero moan and shudder as her own body betrayed her. She turned to his ghostly shade and wished she could touch him with the gentleness neither Night Mother nor Dread Father had for each other. She felt her hands claw at Cicero's handsome face, scoring deep red lines and drawing out a low hiss that had her gasping as Cicero moaned in pain and fear and desire.

He loved his Listener, but not like this. The acts of Father and Mother were not love. They couldn't be. This was pain and domination and he cried out as the Dread Father orgasmed deep into the body of the Listener. Dimly he heard his Listener moan, a deep throaty sound that made the hair raise on his arms and he felt the way her stolen body writhed against his as the Daedra poured his lust and hate into the body of the Night Mother's champion.

The Listener suddenly blinked up at the ceiling, aching from the roughness that had been part of the battle of hatred. Cicero was there was well and she felt him trembling above her as she made soft hushing noises and gently stroked his beautiful blood red hair.

"It's alright Cicero. It wasn't us. It wasn't you... It's not your fault. Please. Don't cry my dear Keeper. I hate to see you cry."


	3. Trials

Cicero was subdued after the incident. He didn't have such an easy smile and his actions were less exuberant and more calculated. He drew in on himself and was very careful not to touch the Listener even accidentally. He still remembered the chaotic blend of emotion. The raw animal hatred that Night Mother and Dread Father had exerted on each other through himself and the Listener. He hadn't wanted to hurt her. Not even when he had such terrible wonderful dreams that woke him in cold sweat and heavy breath as the taste of copper faded from his lips.

The Dragonborn seethed silently, fires hovering in her living golden eye. She too remembered the ferocity of their ruler's coupling. The fight that reminded her too much of a Thu'um and had her itching with thoughts not quite mortal. A Dovah converses with a force that could shatter a mountain. She who is Kiin, still has a Dovah's nature even wrapped in fragile flesh. She forces touch in an ambush. She wants to show him that the pain was not his fault.

The Night Mother watches. And so too does the Dread Father. It is so easy to push just so. To tug at that moment. To influence without word. a Whisper of death that has their puppets wound in gossamer threads that keep them entwined in this battle of wills.

The dragonborn pushes just a little too far sometimes. Her kisses have a hint of sharp fang and leave a too-small tear in his lip. His withdrawals too fierce. A hand slaps hers away when she touches his shoulder. Hurt leads to both withdrawing just that little bit more. Doting Cicero turns to the silent Night Mother for comfort. The Dragonborn leaves to fight and kill without him. Her sudden long absence sends a ripple through the Sanctuary.

In the Shadows, the Night Mother almost seems to smile cruelly as the Dread Father loses his temper in the void.

The Listener calls for the former Speaker, shivering as he wraps cold ghostly arms around her and simply holds her gently. She does not speak and he doesn't pry. He remains silent as she shivers from something other than cold. She hates the Night Mother for what happened. She hates the role she has to assume. It would have been so musch easier to simply be a Speaker or even a Silencer. But she is second only to the Night Mother. She has never hated being the chosen one more than now.

Lucien puts his head on top of hers and rocks her gently. Still they are silent as the void. Shadowmere watches idly, flicking its ear as a normal horse would. It is no mere horse, but it does not have the need to speak. It has eyes to see and ears to hear. The rulers are fighting like Titania and Oberon and it is causing Unrest. Shadowmere could do nothing about it, but perhaps there was one who could. It nudged Lucian before trotting off to talk to a fellow not-quite-mortal being.

Sometimes even Daedra needed to be reminded of their own fallacies, but it was not his place to say.


	4. Balance

Cicero dreamed of soft skin. A woman who he couldn't quite see that touched him as the listener once did. A gentle stroke of a finger. A chests kiss on his lips. It frustrated him that he couldn't see her face and know for sure it was a dream of the Listener he adores. The one he had driven away because of his fear. He had pushed when she had tried to fix what had been broken, shattering the remnants. He was the one who broke things. Now there was no one to Listen.

The Listener didn't return to Dawnstar. Instead she continued the quest she had ignored while completing the tasks for the Brotherhood. Alduin was gone, but he wasn't the only danger. She held the masks of the Cultists in her hand and sighed as she placed it on her desk and began to prepare for a war with a man who had disappeared long before the first bosmer stepped into the woodland.

The sanctuary held only a resigned silence for what seemed an eternity before the Listener returned.

she said nothing to Nazir or the initiates; simply walked with a determination until she collapsed on a bed and knew nothing more. The listener did not stir for three full days. Days in which poor Cicero had worried himself half to death as he hovered over the one person who kept him from sinking further into the instability that had created the Jester in the first place.

How could he have rejected the one who kept him remembering he was still human under the motley?

Cicero crawled into bed with his listener, his cap on the headstand as he touched her cheek with a gloved hand. She didn't stir and he frowned as he noticed that part of her hair was charred and her skin had burns that were recently healed. He wondered what had happened, but was silenced. He could not ask a sleeping woman her answers would be silence. Just like the Night Mother was always silent. His Listener was quiet, but not silent. She spoke to him and smiled at him and he loved his listener even as he resented her. She had defiled the Night Mother and been rewarded while he had heard only silence for nine years. A part of him wanted to kill his lovely listener, but he never would. She obeyed the tenets. She was a perfect listener. He had to make due with being the man she trusted most.

She lay curled on her side, so it was easy to settle behind her and lay with an arm over her thin waist. His Listener was not a Nord woman with a stocky hardy frame. Nor an imperial with a fragile appearance. No. His Listener was an elf who devoured her fallen enemies with a cruel eagerness. He had no such compulsion, but he did like that she would let him crawl into sleeping mats with her and hold her close. She was always happy to see him, but he knew the bond between them was that of brother and sister. A part of him wished for more, but he kept it silent. Soon he too was in sleep and that's when they struck.


	5. Crescendo

Sithis smirked as he pulled the Night Mother closer and nipped at a pointed ear. His hands squeezed tightly and his teeth moved to her neck, leaving red marks and drops of blood that he lapped up with a fierce eagerness. The Night Mother resisted, squirming and writhing as she tried to think of a way to escape her entrapment. A whisper of as out had her becoming like a ghost, his teeth and arms wrapped around nothing as she slipped free eagerly and smirked at him before turning and running away. The shock had him still for but a moment before he gave chase. She had a head start, but that didn't bother him. He soon had her pinned down on the floor, ignoring the fact that the dining room often had at least one occupant. It wasn't like Sithis had any qualms about mortal failings. Cicero had been fully-dressed while the Listener was nearly bare.

It wasn't for long. His motley was torn by rough hands as they struggled to have the upper hand. It was rough and animalistic how they fought. Teeth and nails and growls without words. Somehow they were separated, both rolling to their feet with feline grace. He tackled her into the table and smirked when he heard the involuntary cry of pain. He flipped her onto her stomach and put his fingers in her mouth to muffle any shouts even as she bit down on them with an angry hiss.

Ah, but the pleasure of flesh was a beautiful thing. He groaned as he forced himself into a body so tight and warm and he couldn't resist the urge to put a blade to her throat even as she tried to claw at him from his place behind her. His thrusts were shallow and fast, eager for release as he fucked both his bride and her champion. A hand reached between them and he felt her spasm as he forced her to enjoy the pain. It didn't really matter to him if there was pain or pleasure, but she had been right. He had desired the woman that obeyed the Daedra for reasons unknown. All too soon, he felt the tightening. The heat that flowed in his veins. The sudden release as his borrowed body flashed in a pleasure too great to maintain his hold. He smirked as he watched the Night Mother hiss in frustration at being left without an orgasm of her own.

He had won this battle, though he wondered if the reason for the Listener's sudden Catatonia was because of the battle of wills. It wasn't like he nor the Night mother cared if the woman was pregnant. The listener was not a silencer or a speaker. She should give the contracts to others. And she would as soon as they were sure that it was so.


	6. Outro

Cicero trembled, eyes wide as he looked at the Redguard. His back was against the wall and his blade in his hand as he tried to formulate his escape. He hadn't been able to control himself. Neither of them had. But he was the one at fault because he had been the one pinning her down. But it wasn't him! It was the Dread Father! But oh how could he tell the truth without sounding mad? He whimpered out a hysteric laugh, cringing as Nazir raised his blade for a killing blow.

"NAZIR STOP!"

They froze, turning to see her limping up to them and he felt something dark curl in his chest. A cruel satisfaction that wasn't his and he felt the blood drain from his face as he pressed himself harder into the wall. Oh Sithis no. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. She told him that she had always hated to see him upset and he couldn't disappoint her. Not again. The Redguard turned from poor unworthy Cicero to look at the listener with a furrowed brow.

"I know you like the little madman, but what he did-"

"You know nothing. Keeper he is and he keeps both mother and I satisfied," the lie dripped off her tongue without hesitation and he felt something sick inside his heart. She was protecting him when he couldn't protect her from their cruel masters who delighted in the pain, "Leave him be, Speaker. I will handle things. My own way."

"Cicero is so sorry Listener..." his voice was quiet and she felt her heart break at his admission. Her thin arms wrapped around his chest and she buried her face against his neck where her breath ghosted over the pulse of his throat. He tensed at first, but gave in to wrap his arms around her as fat tears rolled down his cheeks, "I didn't want to. I couldn't stop it... Cicero doesn't want this."

"I love you my foolish Jester," the admission was soft, but it drew a shuddering gasp from him, "from the moment I saw you standing by the road, I knew you were special. Someone perfect for me. Please don't push me away. Not again."

"Cicero promises..." The words were choked, as though it pained him to say what she wanted, "Never again."


End file.
